


The Importance of Sleep

by VanishedElf



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: LOTR slash, M/M, lord of the rings slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanishedElf/pseuds/VanishedElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas joins Éomer as he rides ahead of the Rohirrim on their way to Gondor. Along the way they not only ensure the safety of the passage ahead but also get to know one another in the most interesting of ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Sleep

Two days had passed since the Rohirrim had begun their journey to Gondor when concerns began to arise about the menace that lay ahead. At first it was one or two voices speaking of a potential ambush, decimating the last of their force before it even arrived to defend Minas Tirith. However, before long this feeling of apprehension spread among most of the men, rendering them even wearier than before. It was to Théoden's dismay when Éomer boldly offered to ride ahead and carefully scout the path for hazards. 

"If there is any threat for the troop I can ride back and give you at least a day's notice," spoke Éomer matter-of-factly, his wild hair buffeting in the cross wind where they had halted. "This way, the men can ride forward bravely, knowing that if they have not seen me there is temporary well-being ahead."

"And if you do not return because you meet your end out there?" Théoden retorted, disinclined to let Éomer's ride off alone. "Not only do we lose one of our best warriors but we ride forward with false confidence. I do not see the sense in such a plan. Stay and ride with us, Éomer. We will face the darkness as one." 

The men watching turned expectantly to Éomer, who rumbled, "My Lord, just look at our people. They coward under the anticipation of death. They are not ready. If I do not go ahead, fear alone will render them useless in battle by the time we reach Gondor. Can you not see the sense in this?" 

Théoden was quiet, his eyes fixed on Éomer, thinking. Indeed Éomer had a point. Even the horses had begun to look disheartened. Breathing in and opening his mouth to speak, he was suddenly cut short by a strong voice in the crowd. 

"I will go with him." 

Everybody turned to see who the speaker was. There stood Legolas, his tall slender frame held determined and confident. Before Théoden could elaborate on the sentiment exhibited by Éomer's raised eyebrow, Legolas continued:

"My abilities will be of special use for such a journey. I can see far ahead and my ears are sensitive to the slightest aberration. For the purposes of detecting an impending threat, I can offer protection and aid to the honourable Éomer."

Éomer frowned, disliking the notion that this dainty elf would protect him, the fierce Marshal of the Riddermark. Turning in clear opposition to Théoden, he was surprised to see a look of consideration upon Théoden's face. 

"Indeed, this is a sensible idea. Even though, Éomer, you know this road better than any, I would feel more confident if you were aided by Legolas's abilities. Together your chances of survival are greater." 

After briefly resisting, Éomer begrudgingly agreed to the elf's accompaniment due to the need for haste. And so it was decided that Éomer and Legolas would ride ahead only to return in the event of danger. Loading up their horses, Éomer forcefully emphasized to Legolas the need for furtiveness along the way. 

"We must be swift and invisible, leaving no trace. If you are intimidated by the level of stealth required for this mission, I will hold no judgment if you choose to remain here." 

Legolas turned, his blue-green eyes twinkling despite the dire nature of the circumstances. 

"Stealth, my Lord? Is it not for that very reason that I have been included in your endeavour?" 

Wide-eyed, Éomer felt the sudden need to justify himself to the elf. Opening his mouth, nothing sensible came to mind and Legolas interjected: "but of course, I will make every attempt to act wisely along the way. Do not worry." 

Éomer glanced back only to see corners of Legolas's mouth slightly curved upwards as he innocently tightened the saddle on his horse. Irritated, he grunted in approval and strode away, tripping over a small pile of rope on the ground as he went. 

They rode by day and stopped for brief periods at night. Despite the need for haste, it was important that they rest in order to retain their strength for the battle ahead. Indeed, Éomer and Legolas were such fierce riders that even in leisure they easily broke ahead of the rest of the troop. Although stubborn, Éomer couldn't help but admire the sight of Legolas as he rode forth in silent focus, his blond hair streaming behind him. 

The first night they stopped upon a hilltop that was out of view from the main road. The moon was obscured under a thin film of cloud that hung hazily upon them and Éomer fumbled hurriedly with his canteen, his left hand still sore from the battle at Helm's Deep. He almost had the catch open when he dropped it, cursing. Leaning over, his hand met with the trim fingers of Legolas, who had also reached to recover the canteen for Éomer. Éomer pulled away from the unexpected contact and they both rose, Legolas holding the canteen forward with a grin on his face. Amazingly, the elf did not appear at all worn from the long journey. Indeed, it was fascinating to see the resilient beauty of the elves illustrated before him in this person and Éomer was suddenly uncomfortable. Awkwardly retrieving his canteen, Éomer tossed it onto his rucksack and massaged his left hand uneasily. 

"Does your hand hurt you, my lord?" Legolas asked openly.

"Only slightly. I have suffered much worse in my time", Éomer said, dropping his hands to his sides. "It is of little concern." 

"By the contrary, in battle such a small disadvantage can be of great consequence. Here."

With ease, Legolas stepped forward and reached for Éomer's hand, lifting it towards himself. Shocked, Éomer was speechless but before he could pull away Legolas began to firmly mould Éomer's palm with his thumbs, looking down with earnest focus. The sensation distracted Éomer and he stood discomfited, paralysed by inaction. 

"Sit down, there is no need to stand; I am sure that we are out of harm's way for now." Legolas assured, and they sat down together, Legolas continuing on Éomer's hand. 

"You should get your rest, Lord, and I will keep watch. I am not in any need of sleep, but you require your strength. Try to relax." 

Éomer did feel weary but he kept himself upright as Legolas finished. In no way was he going to lie down while Legolas held his hand, completely forgoing his dignity as a warrior and a man. Finally he reposed brusquely against his rucksack, reminding Legolas for the third time to wake him if there was the slightest disturbance. He fell asleep, resting his body under the watchful eye of the elf. 

A couple hours later soft light illuminated their site and Éomer awoke with a start. The sun had begun to make itself subtly known and it was time to carry on. Looking around, Éomer couldn't see Legolas anywhere. He rose and quickly packed up his horse, nervously scanning the horizon for danger. There was little sound save for the wind hinting at its continual passage. 

"Ready to go, noble Éomer?"

Éomer whirled around and fiercely brandished his sword, having heard no sign of approach only moments before. There stood Legolas, eyes wide and a look of humorous astonishment upon his striking face. He held two canteens, freshly filled from a small spring across the hill, in either hand.

"Very good defences! I know now to avoid approaching you from behind, even when you've just woken up!" 

Even though he questioned the entirety of Legolas's earnestness, Éomer brushed the compliment off, sheathing his sword and chuckling. The absurdity of the situation was trying. Mounting their horses, they carried on, always keeping a careful watch. 

One more day passed with no sign of danger except for a small flock of crows that passed overhead late in the evening. Legolas suggested that they stop but Éomer insisted upon continuing through the night, feeling the weight of responsibility heavily upon him. On the third night they came upon a small forest on the side of the plains which offered good cover and they decided to rest. They had travelled efficiently and could afford to recover some strength. 

The forest was dense and cool. A small stream made its way between the trees, resulting in a soft babbling and lapping sound. Éomer eased himself down upon a fallen log and retrieved a dusty half of bread from a folded cloth. His cape draped heavily across his wide shoulders, making him look larger than ever in the falling dusk. Chewing, he glanced up and noticed that the elf did not appear to be quite as lively as before. There was a soft shadow beneath each of his eyes and his movements seemed slightly less natural, compounded by a certain anxiety. The change was subtle and especially hard to notice due to Legolas's continual poise. However, being the earthy man that he was, Éomer was adept at reading the physical body. Shifting casually, he remarked, "Legolas. It has been three nights now that you have not slept. Despite your wishes, it has begun to show - you seem weary. This forest is dense and sheltered and you can afford to rest for a while tonight. Indeed, I insist that you do, for your strength is valued." 

Legolas sighed, one hand running along his delicate brow. He did not look over, but spoke softly, 

"I believe that you are right, Éomer."

Éomer waited, unaccustomed to the unusual brevity of Legolas's statement. When it was clear that Legolas was not going to continue, Éomer asked, "Well, do you think you will be capable of sleeping tonight, my Lord?" 

Legolas looked over and smiled, his expression still full of the usual playfulness that frustrated Éomer so, but it was coloured by weariness. He chided, "So concerned about me, how kind. I assure you, I will be strong and able either way. Relax. Do not worry yourself, son of Rohan." 

As Legolas spoke of concern and worry, Éomer suddenly realized that he actually did feel somewhat concerned for Legolas's well-being. After three days of concentrated company with the elf, Éomer was beginning to suspect that in some ways Legolas's continual wit indicated a fierce pride. For this reason Éomer reasoned that Legolas would be inclined to conceal his needs or weaknesses in an attempt to remain infallible. Startling, brilliant, awe-inspiring, maybe... but no one, not even an elf, is completely infallible. Éomer stood up and walked over to Legolas, casually placing a gruff hand on his shoulder. Upon contact, Legolas turned to look directly at Éomer, his blue eyes glowing teal in the dim light. What was the expression... curiosity? Immediately Éomer became wildly aware of where he had placed his hand, surprised at the wiry strong musculature embodying Legolas's slight frame. Struggling to remain laid-back, Éomer gripped Legolas's shoulder slightly, and joked, "Listen, my friend. I think it's time you took your own advice, and relaxed. There is no reason for fear tonight. I will watch for as long as you sleep, for I am feeling well." 

Legolas's eyes softened and he nodded. Éomer sighed in relief and felt his stomach muscles unclench. He noticed that his hand remained on Legolas's shoulder, and he roughly patted Legolas on the back before striding nonchalantly back to where he was sitting. Ripping off a sizable share of bread, Éomer fiercely ignored the warmth that had risen in his face and neck. 

Night came and the darkness was only punctuated by soft moonlight that poured between the boughs above. Despite the heavy cover, it was unwise to light a fire and Éomer sat in silence, leaning against the moss covered tree behind him. Nothing could be heard and he surmised hopefully that the enemy's battalions were far away, to be dealt with at a later time. Their horses were peaceful and the babbling stream was soothing. For some reason Éomer found it easy to remain awake, feeling no exhaustion in the stillness. 

Legolas lay on his side facing Éomer about six feet away. The elf's body gently rose and fell with breath and his face was obscured by the shadow cast by his golden hair, luminescent in the moonlight. Breathing deeply, Éomer's eyes found themselves playing upon the elf's slender hands. He thought back to what it felt like when those hands were forcibly kneading his palm, persistent and strong. Raising his left arm, Éomer flexed his fingers and remarked on how there was no pain remaining in the movement. Masterful. Éomer gazed into the forest but felt the strangest temptation to look back at the elf. Furrowing his brow, he compelled himself to remember just how remote and mythical the elves were to his people. Normal then, to be so curious about him. Anyone would be. As he was thinking his gaze returned to Legolas. Out of nowhere he wondered about how the elf would smell, suspecting that it would probably be sweet. Contrite and baffled, he straightened up and crossed his arms, exhaling noisily. 

"Éomer?" 

Legolas's voice came softly out of the darkness. The elf's sudden presence made Éomer self-conscious of his thoughts, irrationally feeling like the elf had seen them all. Clearing his throat, he responded curtly, 

"What is it?" 

"I cannot sleep."

Humiliated, Éomer realized that it was highly possible that the elf had paid witness to his looking, sighing and shifting. What else had he revealed in the darkness? 

"Oh, am I being to loud? I will hold my silence, Legolas." 

The elf sighed, rolling onto his back. "No it is not you. I have not felt rest for days. Perhaps it is anxiety that discourages my repose. How unfortunate." 

Éomer was stumped and shifted his feet, feeling the soft ground bounce beneath them. He tried to impress upon Legolas the importance of the issue and said, "It is imperative that you try, Legolas. I do not feel as though I will sleep tonight, and this time is best spent on something. You seem so weary." 

Legolas rolled on to his side and then to his back again restlessly. His voice teased,

"And why do you feel as though you won't sleep? Funny for you to point fingers at me, when you are unwilling to seek the necessary rest, yourself." 

Éomer noticed that his customary amusement with Legolas was coloured with an unusual thrill. Although Legolas had assured him that it was not so, Éomer still felt slightly responsible for the elf's wakefulness. Had his thoughts been that loud?

"Do not worry, Legolas. I point no fingers but I think it wise that you, in the least, make another attempt at slumber."

When Legolas spoke next, his voice was devoid of any wit. Instead, it had a vulnerable clarity to it that seemed driven by sleep deprived unease. 

"Then... will you help me?"

Éomer paused, wondering if the sudden intensity of the moment was imagined or real. His concern for the elf magnified, and he wanted to be of service to him. 

"What do you wish me to do?"

"Come here." 

Éomer clumsily gathered himself and walked over to Legolas, kneeling before him. The elf lay on his back, his head supported by a small fern that had bloomed the smallest white flowers all over. Éomer looked down upon Legolas's fine features and his heart pounded in his chest. Legolas's brow furrowed and he reached for Éomer's hand, bringing it slowly to his neck. Without speaking Éomer began to softly knead the elf's neck between his thumb and forefinger, feeling where his fine hair met the smooth skin. Legolas closed his eyes and opened his mouth in pleasure, letting out a small groan of relief. This sound exhilarated Éomer who was increasingly bothered by a deep burning rising in his abdomen. 

Éomer had always been more interested in tactile pursuits rather than intellectual. He remembers many times when he excelled in sport or play due to his ability to lock out his mind's influence. Right now, the same divine focus was birthing itself in him and he was propelled forward by the most basic form of inquisitiveness, desiring not to know but to experience. Naturally, he moved under Legolas's cloak to feel his rough hands scuff the smooth skin of his shoulder. Moving his grasp down the elf's arm, Éomer felt those wiry muscles in entirety, moulding them with deep movements.

Legolas's eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. Éomer had forgotten with which rules to gauge the normalcy of his actions and merely waited upon Legolas's resistance as an indication to stop. However, no resistance came. Éomer found himself pulling Legolas into a sitting position, one firm hand on the elf's back, which arched slightly. How had he anticipated Legolas to smell? Inhaling deeply into his neck, Éomer confirmed that the elf had a sweet aroma that intoxicated him. He was still rubbing Legolas's shoulder when the elf grabbed his hand. Éomer's chest rose and fell and the elf pressed Éomer's hand down onto himself. Éomer felt Legolas through his clothes and pushed him down, driven mad by the elf's forwardness. Undoing Legolas's britches, Éomer reached more intimately, closer, and faster. 

Éomer's natural tactile senses thrived and Legolas had been satisfied, breathing hard before him. Éomer still knelt, completely clothed and blinded by the blood pounding in head. When the Legolas's breath stilled somewhat he shot Éomer a devilish smile that caused Éomer to swallow hard. 

"Thank you so much, my friend. I believe now I will be able to sleep quite nicely. I feel divinely relaxed." 

Without bothering to do himself back up the elf rolled over, pulling his tunic carelessly over his shoulders. Within moments, he seemed to have fallen asleep. Éomer blinked and slowly stood up. With no where else to go, he returned to sit by the tree, but he was vibrating all over. He fought his unreleased emotions down. As his senses returned they carried with them violent self-reproaching waves of shock. Had that been real? What was certainly real was the hopelessness of sleep for Éomer that night. 

***

Morning arrived glowing through the mossy mounds of the forest with hot beams of liquor sunlight. Legolas stirred, sensing the steady increase in heat. The forest seemed to lock in the humidity of the stream resulting in a dense heaviness in the earthy air. The second Éomer saw Legolas beginning to rouse he pulled himself up and began fixing the horses, getting ready to depart as soon as possible. There was a prolonged "Ahhhhhhh...." as Legolas stretched, eventually coming to his feet as well. Éomer glanced back quickly. Even from a quick look it was apparent that any sign of fatigue had completely vanished from the elf's demeanour, leaving him effervescent and brilliant. Appearing to be in no hurry, Legolas held his arms up and moved his neck from side to side, his clothing still unfastened and his hair buoyant despite the humidity. 

Frustrated and manic from his lack of sleep, Éomer grumbled, "Hurry up, elf. We should be departing as soon as possible."

Legolas's laugh sparkled like a rich crystalline chime. "There is no exact hurry, Éomer! We have already pulled ahead. And it is well known that riders proceed with more efficacy when comfortable and loose anyhow." 

Humourless, Éomer turned finally to look directly at Legolas, his eyebrows raised partially in contempt and partially in order keep his stony eyes open. Chunks of his hair blasted in all directions, completely askew, and his mouth was a tight frown of discontent beneath frazzled shadows. It was obvious that Éomer was anything but 'comfortable and loose' but Legolas only showed his recognition by pulling one corner of his mouth up into a mischievous half-smile as he braided his hair behind his back. Despite being used to Legolas's sense of humour Éomer was taken off guard. He roughly gestured in no clear direction and grunted, "Hurry up and get dressed, Legolas. For god's sake this isn't a game, this is war." 

Hands still behind his back, Legolas responded in a dangerously serious voice, "You may be right, my Lord. If your concern is torturously unrelenting perhaps you could do up my shirt for me, as it will undoubtedly speed up the process." 

Éomer's glared fiercely and clenched his jaw, feeling the fire that had harassed him all night mount dangerously. Disturbed, he stomped his feet and made off to the stream to fill the canteens, which were already well supplied. 

Despite his chiding Legolas made haste and they rode quickly out of the forest along the grassy hillside. Their horse's hooves tore across the terrain and the sun was almost blinding without the cover of the trees. Éomer felt rejuvenated by the fresh wind that tore into his body and he smiled, glad to be pushing forth. The sun warmed his face and he gripped the reins, feeling the texture of rough leather. Enjoying physical sensations such as these were so simple and easy, requiring no thought. He tore ahead with Legolas just behind. Without the elf in his view it was almost possible for Éomer to forget his torment from the night before. Thoughts of the troop drifted through Éomer's mind and he hoped that they were safe and confident. The sky had not yet begun to darken in the wake of Moridor's advancement so it was still possible to avoid the bothersome apprehension of what lay ahead. 

The sun had long set by the time they decided to stop. Éomer had been putting it off but realized that it was almost irresponsible to push his body without rest. There was too much at stake. No forest offered them refuge this time: only a slight dip in the hillside provided shelter. Éomer lay down almost immediately and it was mutually understood that he was in greater need of rest than Legolas. Closing his eyes, Éomer realized that this silent understanding was almost an indirect acknowledgment of what had transpired the night before. Coughing forcefully, he violently hurled the thought away, inhaling deeply and relaxing his body. 

But alas, sleep did not come as easily as Éomer had hoped. With no sun, horse or motion to distract him, thoughts and memories began to stir in his mind despite his fervent attempts to focus. There was no direct measurement of time but Éomer was sure that at least two hours had passed since he first lay down, and he did not feel even a hint of sleep in his body. Begrudgingly, he began to assess his thoughts. Perhaps he could find a way to sleep if he stopped ignoring at least some of them. 

Last night it had been he, Éomer, and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, resting along the way of their journey. Legolas had been having difficulty falling asleep, presumably due to mounting anxieties about the days to come. Sensible, then, for Legolas to ask for assistance... Indeed, the elf seemed unabashed by these sort of physical comforts, so naturally tending to Éomer's hand when it had been sore. Sensible, maybe, for the elf, but Éomer was unaccustomed to such courtesies. Was it his responsibility to forget about the event, honouring the strange customs that may have governed Legolas's decisions? Rolling over on to his side, Éomer was despondent and unsure. His stomach leapt as he thought about the soft scent that had graced the elf's smooth neck. Exhaling, Éomer began to feel frustrated. Sensible, maybe, but also selfish. Had the elf, with his glittering blue eyes and flamboyant smiles, not once stopped to consider how Éomer would fare during the entire mess? Not only was it selfish but disrespectful to seed such confusion during wartime in the Marshal's mind. And his constant teasing, parading about hardly clothed. It felt scheming, manipulative... It felt like Legolas was completely aware of Éomer's feelings for him but chose to disregard any sort of humility anyway. Éomer's feelings! Why, Éomer should not have even had to think about such things to begin with! Clenching his fists, Éomer rolled over and barked loudly, "Damn you!" 

Legolas jumped, taken off guard. Sitting a few paces from where Éomer lay, he looked around. Éomer lay, propped up on one arm, breathing furiously and scowling. His unkempt hair framed his dark, wild face. Confused, Legolas twitched his brow innocently and asked, "My Lord?"

It was too late for Éomer's temper. Once stoked, it had full reins and Éomer breathed hard, gritting his teeth before growling softly, "Damn you, elf! It is because of you that I cannot sleep!" 

A fleeting look of understanding was quickly replaced with a distracting smile on Legolas's face. Leaning closer he began inspecting Éomer as if looking for something amiss, his eyes moving left and right upon Éomer's body. He said, with what Éomer perceived to be fictitious concern, "Whatever do you mean, my Lord? Did I do something wrong?"

Without meaning to, Éomer jabbed Legolas in the chest with his pointed finger as he rumbled, "Don't act so innocently, elf! I will not be forced to speak of that which you so readily know!"

Flinching, Legolas moved his shoulder away from Éomer's jabs and Éomer's anger plummeted into self conscious guilt. Pausing, Éomer gently retook Legolas's shoulder into his hand, looking past Legolas into the smoky night. 

"I'm sorry... I did not mean to..."

Legolas reached up and placed atop Éomer's hand his own, softly caressing Éomer's rough skin. Startled, Éomer stared feverishly into the elf's face. Legolas smiled, this time with only the most distant hint of teasing. 

"Do not fret, son of Rohan. I should not seem so ignorant to that which you speak. In all honesty, I have been aware of you from the start, and I too am sorry." 

Éomer coughed and looked down, embarrassed. He had not expected the complete lack of resistance from Legolas and now without his anger he found that he had nothing more to say. Still, his hand remained between the elf's shoulder and palm, and neither of them moved. Suddenly, as if remembering an idea, Legolas asked, "Is there not something I can do to help you to sleep? As you helped me the evening past?"

Legolas had made himself plain and looked with intent into Éomer's face. But Éomer was embarrassed. Shaking his head, he muttered, "Oh, I couldn't.... I couldn't do that. See it isn't right, it really isn't...."

Legolas leaned dangerously close, his eyes almost slightly crossed as they looked up into Éomer's. As he spoke Éomer caught a waft of his scent, fresh and soft in the evening air. "Who is to say what is right and wrong, especially in this time of peril?"

Staring straight ahead, Éomer was silenced by the simmering vibration that was rising in him. He said nothing, pressing his tongue agitatedly against his teeth. Legolas continued: 

"Is it not of the highest importance that Lord Éomer achieves rest, regardless of the means?"

The elf tilted his head slightly and Éomer met his eyes once more, his nostrils flaring. 

"As unfortunately, we cannot change the events that have led us to feeling how we do, here, tonight, can we....?" 

Legolas then opened his mouth and softly clasped Éomer's lower lip in between his teeth, kissing him lightly before pulling away. The kiss was tentative, as if posing a question, and in one movement Éomer answered. 

Éomer was a man of love and his previous hesitation was no indication of his experience. Holding Legolas firmly Éomer crawled on top of him, seeking what he desired in entirety. The goal was relief - relief from wondering, watching, denied lust and impassioned restraint. 

Éomer's body moved with strength and persistence against Legolas who bit down upon Éomer's shoulder in order to remain quiet enough for caution. Éomer held Legolas's face in his hands, his fingers roughly entangled in the elf's luminescent hair, and the moment seemed endless. When Éomer had filled Legolas with as much pent up desire as he possibly could, his body seized and his deep moan reverberated in Legolas's ear. Falling down, Éomer's heavy body weighed upon the elf, who breathed heavily.

When he finally pulled away, Éomer looked down upon Legolas. After days of scowls, a small smile escaped Éomer and he began to chuckle softly. The deep sound resonated across the hilltops. Legolas grinned, his eyes sparkling before he pressed a hand over Éomer's mouth, whispering, "Shhhhhh, shhhh! You'll get us killed!" 

Once Éomer's laughter receded he lay down, breathing softly. This time, Éomer was finally able to give in to sleep. And he slept soundly, his mouth gaping open and his brow slightly furrowed. Legolas kept watch, mostly scanning the hills for danger, but occasionally finding amusement in noticing the Marshal drooling in his repose. 

Two days later the warriors returned to meet the Rohirrim who had successfully completed the passage to Gondor. The force raged into combat full of hope and fire, determined to vanquish the evil that was Sauron from the lands of men. Legolas noticed Éomer nod gallantly at him as they stood in line, ready to stampede forth. Despite the tragedy of losses, the war fell in their favour and Minas Tirith was secured. 

Éomer suffered the loss of Théoden and the injury of Éowyn during the war. With the same passion Legolas had witnessed previous, Éomer expressed his sorrows with forceful honesty. However, resilient as ever, Éomer recovered from his struggles and looked forward, ready for the next challenge. 

It was a busy time and although there was little space for recreation, Legolas and Éomer sometimes found themselves standing uncharacteristically close to one another in the most formal of settings. Although unusual, the natural way in which they held themselves seemed to obscure any possible mystery, their connection overlooked. Standing in the throne room with Gimli and Aragorn, Gandalf pondered their next move into Moridor. Both Legolas and Éomer were focused and ready to defend Frodo and Sam. Only the smallest part of Éomer's mind was elsewhere, secretly remarking upon Legolas's stance, his expression, and his discipline.


End file.
